


Ablaze

by VivWiley



Series: Ancient Elements [3]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, abuse of metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivWiley/pseuds/VivWiley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully discovers that surrendering to your fears is sometimes the greatest freedom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ablaze

I awake on fire. 

I am surrounded by his inferno, sparked from my sleep like a striking match by the scorching drag of his fingers, trailing flames along my skin--touching, dancing, caressing. 

I am transfixed by this sensation--sinking backward into the heat and hardness of Mulder's body and our connection. His hands sweeping over my skin, branding me with a casual possessiveness that I don't think he even realizes he has. 

I am helpless in front of the onslaught of emotion and pure physical need that he rouses in me. My body softening, responding, slipping further and further into his white-hot blaze. The intensity of his passion steals all the available oxygen, leaving me breathless with desire and abandon.

The sweet hard length of his body pressed along my back calls to me. Seducing me with promises unspoken, but nonetheless heard. Promises that are built on the foundation of now and then and forever.

His fingers gently slide down my arm, swirling languid designs as they move--ancient symbols of life and secrets foretold--until at last they reach my hand and our fingers mesh and tangle.

"Scully." A whisper only. Breath soft against my ear. Mere suggestion of sound. Yet, so much more than that. In his voice, my name is strangely beautiful and intimate. It is a plea and promise. I shiver with nothing at all like cold, and feel his fingers tighten around mine. Strong, tender.

I have no voice to answer him. My chest tight and heavy, I can barely draw breath to keep oxygen traveling through my blood. I can only sigh quietly, knowing he will understand my acquiescence, my answering need. I must speak with my body--my fingers flexing in his grasp, coded messages that pass along the wire that binds us. My legs moving against his, restless, seeking.

Mulder is what he most fears - fire. Dangerous, unpredictable, and once sparked to life, unstoppable. He will level entire forests, icefields, or bureaucracies in his search for what matters most to him--truth, justice, answers that no one else thinks to look for....or to find me. 

It was my fears of surrendering to that fire that held me apart from him for so long. Like the proverbial moth attracted to the candle flame, the instinctive animal part of me longed to throw myself into his all-consuming pyre. But my rational side always held me back just at the moment when I would have flown through that final boundary between air and fire. I relied on that rationality to preserve me. I hated it with a passion.

Shifting against him, feeling his heat and hardness pressed into my back, smelling the heady musky scent that is us, I cannot imagine why I feared this surrender so much. I thought it impossible to live in flame. I was wrong.

I turn in the narrow confines of his arms, and meet his eyes--bright, clear, alight with a joy I had never hoped to see. My own eyes, I know, reflect a similar brightness. He has marked me. Seared through my soul to claim me as his own, as I have claimed him. I will never look for that joy in another's eyes. No other will find an answering echo in mine.

Then his mouth lowers to meet mine, and I must allow my eyelids to flutter shut. Concentrating solely on my senses of touch and hearing and taste. Oh. It is all still too much. Overwhelming. This wet, sweet softness of our mouths and tongues mating. Sliding, moving, testing. 

His lips against mine are like nothing else I have ever known. It is connection and communion. For endless moments we lie like this. Our hands intertwined, gentle pressure of our fingertips. Heated flesh pressed into welcoming heat. Our kiss silently speaking all the words we so rarely say out loud.

He finally releases my hand to allow his hands to rove body. Tracing the patterns of delight that he knows so intimately. That he has created in these dark, enveloping nights we now share. I arch into his touch, gasping, sighing. Seeking the oblivion and consummation that only he can bring me. Lost in my own greed for this touch, this feeling. I am awash in the pleasure of his sure hands, the ebb and flow of the rhythm of our love.

But I cannot simply submit meekly to this--our mutual need demands more. I bring up my hands to his shoulders, caressing the long, sleek muscles, the surprisingly soft skin. Feeling his response beneath my fingers, his body pressed into mine. Encompassing him as he encompasses me. Only together like this are we complete. 

Mulder is elemental, and requires an elemental response. No half-way measures will suffice. I feared losing myself in him. I thought my total capitulation to the demands of his passion would undo me. But in daring that surrender, I gained something I still can't look at too closely, because it is so bright it might blind me. It is the bright hope that sustains me, though, through all the madness and other uncertainties of our lives.

He is languid tonight. Patient, thorough. Focused with a laser-like intensity, but with no hurry, no rush. It is unbearably erotic--this slow gentleness. I bend my head to kiss his   
shoulder, to nip a little at his skin, feeling him jump a little, and then resettle. 

His eyes laugh down at me. He says nothing, though, catching my silence, and echoing it back, warm and familiar. A silence that hums with the slowly building tension.

Slowly he slides down my body, kissing each millimeter of my skin, something akin to worship. Pausing to run the tip of his tongue along my collarbone, fingers following in twin paths of pleasure.

He reaches my breast and tenderly kisses a nipple, his hand caressing along the side of my aching fullness. I fall back into the sheets, caught between this swirling, liquid present and a memory....

Not long after the case of the pyrotechnic, which briefly reunited him with that bit-- Phoebe, we found ourselves at dinner in a restaurant much fancier than normal. I'm not sure how or why--it wasn't quite our style then or now--I have a vague recollection of Mulder steering me there, muttering something about the Washington Post's food critic's latest review, but I don't really know...

What I remember about that evening, though, was seeing Mulder by candlelight. Really seeing him, and realizing that he glowed. That the passion and fire I'd begun to suspect he contained was real. It warmed me in places I was hesitant to name, afraid that by naming them I would have to act on my knowledge. Recognizing even then how the flame would call me. Fearing, at that time, how it would consume me and leave me nothing but ashes.

There were candles on the table. Tall, white tapers set in slightly ostentatious crystal candle sticks. Their flames flickered and danced in the lightly moving air. I could see   
Mulder's eyes being drawn to their burning presence again and again as we talked. I don't recall what we said. What I remember from that night was his face, illuminated from within and without by flame. I lost endless moments to absorbing the picture of him in front of me.

And his long, elegant fingers finally reaching out, daring, challenging the flames. Sweeping through the cool fire of the yellow halo surrounding the burning wick. His eyes tracking their motions through and over and around and in. 

It's ok, I wanted to tell him. You can touch the flame, dive down into it. It will know you, accept you. You are kindred sparks.

I saw him testing the candles' flames that night, testing himself against his own fears, and the immutable laws of chemistry and physics. I could tell you precisely the reaction that causes a wick to burn, but I will never be able to diagram for you the chemistry and physics of our immutable bond, that which burns between us....

He has moved lower on my body, his elegant fingers still kneading and stroking my breasts, but his lips now traveling across the skin of my body--kissing and whispering spells that bind us into a time out of time. My hands trace answering talismans along the lithe lines of his shoulders. 

Each time we are together like his, I want to stop time. To disconnect from space and the progression of hours and simply drift forever on the currents of our immutable cadences. But I cannot stop time, so I must concentrate on holding on to each moment as it occurs. Cherishing these moments for the priceless treasures they are.

We nearly didn't allow ourselves this. Nearly lost something we didn't even know we had. I will be forever grateful that we dared take this gift. That we overcame our mutual pride and stubbornness and habits of solitude to meet each other across a beach one cold and unexpected night.

He reaches the crisp curls at my juncture, and reverently runs his fingertips along the line where skin gives way to hair. I quiver under the light touch, and then begin to tremble deep in my center as he gently parts my legs, and breathes in the aroma of my unmistakable arousal. 

A kiss on my swelling clitoris, and I can feel my body beginning to dissolve, my bones melting in this refining fire. I am helpless to do anything but accept his ministrations, letting the waves of arousal wash over me, following the inexorable rhythm of his mouth and hands, until I am crying out incoherently, dazed and shaken by the power of my release.

Finally, I can raise my head enough to meet his eyes--dark and smoldering in the dim light of my bedroom. His expression is momentarily unreadable, and then his face is transformed by a slow, deep smile. For a breathless moment our eyes lock and hold, the sound of our breathing the only break in the silence. 

Then he flows up my body again to kiss me once more, passing back my own essence, along with the smoky undertone which is uniquely his. 

I can feel his erection pressing into my thighs--hard, insistent. I can feel his tension building, radiating through his frame, creating anew an answering echo in my core. I press up a little against him, restless again, ready.

He positions himself above me and then slowly sinks into me, filling me with one sure thrust. So tight and perfect--we fit together in ways that defy metaphor. We simply are, and will be.

A ragged sigh from him, and he begins to move in me and through me. My hands reach up to grasp him closer, deeper. Feeling him surge away from me, and against me again, I am caught in his paradox--Mulder as water and Mulder as fire. He is both to me. Essential to life, to warmth, to growth. He is these elements and more. 

He is an ocean of fire now washing over me with cool green flames that will drown me forever in his depths, changing me beyond recognition until I am wholly and only me, as I was meant to be. As I was meant to be with him.

He bends to kiss me once more. Moving a little faster now, a little rougher. Yes. Oh. Now. Deeper, harder, take me through this moment, Mulder, sweep me out to sea until I am lost forever in an endless fire. 

I can feel his breath catch and redouble. Feel my pulse speeding, stuttering in the fullness of the motion and moment. A bonfire builds in my core, spreading along my veins in   
quicksilver rivers of lightning. 

I am disintegrating into base elements, feeling only Mulder's hands holding my body together as they reach and pull me ever more tightly against him. 

A golden brightness winds up from our point of connection, the friction of our thrusts making it flare hotter and whiter. It coils through my stomach and heart wrapping us both in its embrace.

With a sob, I let go and fall into the force of my orgasm, letting it overtake me and sunder me into pure energy, feeling and emotion.

As I spasm around him, Mulder pauses for a moment, watching me, holding me, riding the crest of my waves with me, and then he begins his final ascent. His thrusts now rough, ragged, quick. Until he, too, is released.

We are flying now--weightless in each others' arms, spiraling through air and water and fire, until we transcend the known universe, and are scattered as points of fire across the night sky. 

 

I never believed in the transformative nature of love. It seemed to me the mere stuff of fairy tales, and cheap romance novels. The wishful thinking that love is the answer to all life's problems, if only we are lucky enough to find that "right person." I rejected the notion because I believe that we are who we are, and that we cannot change another, even with love.

But I have come to realize that in Mulder's fire, I have become steel--strong, enduring, flexible. My science and rationality were the raw elements tempered in the furnace that we created. Just as his fire was transformed into a crucible for refining his search for answers...the search that has become ours. 

It is not simply this--this physical manifestation of our need and love and connection that is this meeting of iron and fire. It is all that we are together--partners, seekers, lovers and soul mates. He...we have forged this blade between us. Because together we are the blade. 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the X-Files are the property of 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. No infringement is intended.
> 
> Note: This belongs in the same universe as my stories Undertow and Weightless (in that order) and follows them. It is not necessary to have read them to understand this, though.
> 
> Acknowledgments: This story is all Thalia d'Muse's fault. She knows why. It's why I made her beta read. I hope she's learned her lesson.....(thanks, D)


End file.
